Tuesday
My son Tobias Wilson-Bates, a Victorianist who teaches English at Georgia Gwinnett College, blew up twitter the other day when he applied a poem from Alice through the Looking Glass to post-Covid-vaccine protocol. The high volume response testified to the love people have for Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky,” which I have shared at the end of today’s post.
Incidentally, I remember reading the Alice books to Toby when he was small. Later he wrote part of his dissertation about how Carroll’s satire of standardized education is related to the 19th century’s fascination with time. (You can read an account of it here. ) Now he has gone even further and taken Alice to twitter.
Toby tweeted,
Being vaccinated does NOT mean you can gyre and gimble in the wabe. REMEMBER that the borogoves are STILL all mimsy. And the mome raths outgrabe.
The tweet brought out the best in the twitter-verse:
–Ah, but you can – if you have had the Astra Zeneca twice, and if you wait three weeks. Roll on Saturday, 17th April next. Gyring and gimbling like you’ve never seen before. The wabe will never be the same again!
–Of course it doesn’t! What do I look like? A BANDERSNATCH?! (TWB replay: More like a jubjub bird.)
–Ran out of wabe halfway through the lockdown. (TWB response: You might still be able to outgrabe if you show up early in the day.)
–You burbled snicker-snack you! Oh wait…Mmmm Snickers, it’s a totally tasty snack. Carry on awesme vaccinated beamish boy, just may sure you chop that Snicker-snack with vorpal blade in half & share with me! Callooh callay! O Frabjous day! I am vaccinated too!
–I understand not gyring; that’s just being reasonable. But to gimble is my passion and cannot be denied. You can tell the wabe I’ll double-mask if that’ll make it feel safer.
–Oh I’m gyring all right, or my name isn’t Brillig! I’ll gimble like no one’s ever gimbled when I’m sufficiently frumious.
–Ah Jabberwocky. Still makes more sense than an anti-vaxer.
–And there’s still a damned good chance that the snark is a boojum.
–I am definitely going to continue being ware of the jabberwocky, but then I’m known for being antisocial and will frequently shun the bandersnatch as well as the jub-jub and others
–This only applies to the current vaccines but the new vorpal jab let’s you gimble all you want
–I’ll just be over here reading this thread and chortling by the Tumtum tree, as one does
–Come to my arms, my beamish boy
–Indeed, better to pause a while in uffish thought.
–But I can shun the frumious second mask and go with just the one. Callooh! Callay!
–What if I upgrade my Vorpal Sword with a Snicker-Vax
–Come into my arms, my beamish mRNA, I chortled in my joy!
–I thought gyring and gimbling were restricted to slithy toves only.
–Come to my arms my beamish boy…but 6 feet away, please!
–Make sure to socially distance as you galumph back!
And then there was this twitter thread as responders responded to each other:
–Bullshit. I’ve got a fucking vorpal sword.
–Vorpal swords don’t stop viruses. How many times do I have to say this?!
–One two, one two and through and through, the Pfizer jab went pinch and pack
–*nods* the vaccine will not protect you from the Jabberwock; even after the second dose; make sure you wear a mask, continue to social distance, and keep your vorpal sword nearby
As a number of people remarked, it was altogether brillig.
For those who need a refresher, here’s Lewis Carroll’s masterpiece:
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Alice’s response reminds me of when I’ve taught The Waste Land:
“It seems very pretty,” she said when she had finished it, “but it’s rather hard to understand!” (You see she didn’t like to confess, ever to herself, that she couldn’t make it out at all.)
